Chapter 3

After school Monday they had the usual faculty meeting, and he was very surprised to hear that big Jim O'Reilly, an institution at the school and a major blowhard, a war lover among other traits, was leaving to take a job at the community college. "Mr. Thompson will take over the varsity, at least for now, and if anybody wants his JV, let me know, otherwise I guess he'll do both for a while." The principal produced a smile, his supercilious one.

That was news, more money, something like a thousand bucks, a job he wanted, had wanted, really wanted for a long time. Head coach. Major sport. Hot Damn! The varsity was his goal since he took that first aid course, learned how to tape ankles, something he had never done, and started coaching, ten, no, eleven years, when he was working at a junior high. Before that it had been rec department jobs, mostly, and CYO. Back before it happened and the world turned upside down and inside out.

After the meeting, the principal stopped him, a hand on his shouder. "Job's yours," the smiling man said, "but we have to advertise both positions and do interviews. Understand?" His outward manner said jovial, but almost no faculty member believed it. He was a petty tyrant with a few favorites.

The teacher nodded, pushing aside a small doubt, sure there were better qualified men out there, phony interviews were common enough. In this school system few important jobs were ever advertised before they were filled. He headed for the gym where the long-time coach was packing his stuff into a cardboard box. "You ain' gonna like this," was his greeting.

He waited, looking around. All the team pictures were gone.

"Them three big black boys, studs, they're going with me, over to the college."

"Really?" the teacher said, confused, surprised.

"Yeah, I jus' talked 'em into registering here, found 'em this summer, out a'district y'know, but they don't go to classes, not often anyhow, so I'll sign 'em up over there and maybe, just maybe, they might learn something." He sniffed and grinned. "Could happen. Pigs fly. Sides, don' cost nothin'."

"What's that leave, eight or nine kids?"

"Yeah, sorry, but you can move up some of your bunch, that blonde looks good, the lefty."

"Good luck," he said as the smiling man stuck out his hand and then hurried out the door.

He sat in the old swivel chair and looked around at the bare walls. Then he got up and walked across to the girls' side of the gym and found the school's AD in her office.

"Good luck," she said, smiling, "you're going to need it."

"He told me, taking his boys with him."

"I tried to stop that business, but he had the boss's ear. Our dear principal, as I'm sure you know, he just loves to win games, build a bigger trophy case."

He nodded. "We ought to do something about practice, girls and boys. They're not getting a fair share, early in the morning, never have I guess."

She nodded. "Yep, I know. She smiled. "Traditions."

"How about I use Tuesday and Thursday and they get Monday or Wednesday and Friday? I'll talk to her; we'll work it out." He paused, thinking. "We might do some half court work."

"Ginger will appreciate that. You going to keep the JV at the same time, share the floor?'

He nodded. "For a while anyway. Like to get those other backboards set up, the half-court ones they took down for the dance."

"I'll see to it," she said. "Good luck."